


drowning my thoughts out with sounds

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Enchanted Forest, F/M, Lieutenant Duckling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian prides himself with being even-tempered.</p><p>Years in the Navy taught him patience, calm, obedience. They give the orders and he obeys, never out of line, never one word above the other. That is what has made him rising through the ranks at such a young age, now wearing the title of Lieutenant at one-and-twenty. It is his pride, his honour.</p><p>It is also all jumping out the window in a second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drowning my thoughts out with sounds

Killian prides himself with being even-tempered.

Years in the Navy taught him patience, calm, obedience. They give the orders and he obeys, never out of line, never one word above the other. That is what has made him rising through the ranks at such a young age, now wearing the title of Lieutenant at one-and-twenty. It is his pride, his honour.

It is also all jumping out the window in a second.

Nails biting in the tender flesh of his palms, imprinting raw crescent-moon marks there, he does as best as he can to remember his place, to even out his voice, to remain collected. It is hard, with the tension building between his shoulder blades and the gritting of his teeth, and the need to do something, anything, anything at all.

“What. Happened.”

It is the only thing he can say, what with the rage bubbling inside his stomach, climbing up his ribcage and settling inside his heart. His eyes are hard, his mind heavy, his every fibre screaming, screaming over and over again. The Queen only stares down at him, less than impressed with his behaviour and his impudence. Her eyes are hard, too, rimmed with red at the corners from tears she refuses to shed in public.

“A ship was to bring her to Arendelle for Queen Elsa’s coronation. Elsa sent us a letter yesterday, saying –”

“I _bloody well_ know what it was saying.”

He sees, from the corner of his eyes, the Prince Consort standing up, hand on the pommel of his sword, but the Queen stops him with a simple shake of the head. The Prince stands back, but Killian still feels the weight of his glare on him, even if he doesn’t return the look. No, instead he keeps glaring at the Queen, knowing fully well it won’t change a thing – she is as powerless as he is right now, and nothing can change that.

Nothing can change that, but it won’t stop Killian from trying.

“Lieutenant, if you would calm down now –”

He scoffs, loud, ugly. “Calm down? The princess is lost at sea because of some _incompetent_ captain and you want me to calm down? You know as well as I do that she only trusts the Jewel on her travels, and for a reason. You should have waited! _You should have bloody_ –”

“ _Lieutenant, enough_!” The Queen snaps at him, not even raising her voice – she never needs to, anyway. “You will not utter another word if you wish not to be demoted on the spot.”

Killian’s mouth snaps shut, and his good habits kick back in as he clicks his heels together, hands behind his back, standing straighter. The fire in his eyes doesn’t die, though, and already he thinks of ways to go on a rescue mission of his own, on ways to find Emma’s castaway ship, on ways to find her and to bring her home – bring her back to him.

He will take a rowing boat if he has to, if it is the last option left to him. Anything, anything at all for the princess, for his love, for Emma. That is a promise he didn’t make lightly, and one he intends to keep – even at the cost of his own life, if it ever comes to such drastic measures.

“Three different rescue missions left port the moment the letter arrived. All of them were instructed to only come back if they found her or were running short on supplies, whichever comes first. They will find her. You have to believe they will find her.

“With all due respect, Your Highness,” he replies, voice hoarse with emotions and forced politeness, “this is not enough.”

He turns around without even bowing to his Queen, lest he makes it worse than he already did. She never particularly held him close to her heart, unlike the Prince Consort who warmed up quickly enough to the idea of Killian courting their daughter – he can read it in the Queen’s eyes, at times, how she believes him still not to be enough for the crown princess, even if she knows better than to forbid their relationship. She would never deny Emma true love, and knows as well as Killian that Emma wouldn’t take too kindly to being told not to do something. So the Queen agrees to their seeing each other, although reluctantly – she never approved, and Killian only made matter worse today.

He doesn’t find it in himself to care, though, not when Emma’s life may be on the line, not when she is lost to him and he is lost, period.

 

…

 

When he comes back to his ship, he isn’t in the lest surprised that his brother already got order not to, under any circumstance, set sail and leave Mist Haven. It was to be expected, after all.

 

…

 

The week that follows is excruciatingly painful to Killian. He can see his brother forcing many a task on him, even some he usually relegates to simple sailors – anything, really, to keep Killian’s hands and mind busy at all times, until exhaustion takes over and he all but collapses in his bunk at night. His sleep is cursed with nightmares – Emma drowning, Emma crying, Emma yelling at him for not coming to her, for letting her down, for being a failure to her. He wakes up damp with sweat in the middle of the night, his breathing ragged and heavy, his eyes blurry with tears.

It weights down on his, on his shoulders and under his eyes – appetite lost, motivation long gone, as he goes from one task to another almost mechanically, brooding so much that the other sailors have taken to avoiding him now. Not that Killian minds, as he relishes in his loneliness, stuck in the darkness of his own mind. It is only because of his brother that he doesn’t stop eating, doesn’t stop living – is it even life anymore, if Emma isn’t in it?

It is on the morrow of the eighth day, with no more news of the three rescue ships, that Killian wakes up to a morn sky, grey with clouds and the promise of rain in the afternoon. At least the weather matches his mood today, Killian thinks as he buttons his jacket and grabs his hat. He is about to leave his cabin when someone barges in – a young cabin boy whose name still eludes Killian, trying to speak and catch his breath both at once.

“Lieutenant – the captain – on deck – ship – now.”

“You are not making sense, lad.”

“ _Now_!”

Killian knows better than to question the cabin boy, even if he still throws daggers his way for his insubordination – not that Killian would be able to judge, after all. Without further ado, he leaves his cabin and climbs up the stairs leading to the deck, finding his brother in a matter of seconds. Liam walks toward him, smile on his lips as he claps a hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“They found her,” is all he says.

Is all he needs to say, for Killian’s brain stops working after those words – _they found her they found her they found her_ – the sentence playing on repeat in his head like a mantras of sorts. He doesn’t know what to think, what to say, and so he lets his brother turn him around, lets his brother point to a ship making its way inside the harbour. The colourful royal crest is a sharp contrast against the grey of the sky, and Killian’s heart misses a beat because – she is here, she is so close.

She is _home_.

His feet react before he does, leading him down the gangplank and through the harbour, until he is standing still, facing the ocean, facing the ship that is bringing her back home. Bringing her back to him. Killian doesn’t want to believe him, doesn’t dare to hope – not until he sees her, touches her, kisses her.

His patience wears thin, but then the ship is mooring at last, captain yelling orders to his sailors, gangplank being thrown in a loud ‘thuck’. Killian’s breath catches in his throat the moment his eyes find her – her dress is ruined and her hair untamed, wrapped up in a cloak too big for her small frame, but it is her alright. It is his Emma.

She lightens up when their eyes meet, and even from the distance he can see the double dimples in her cheeks when she beams and grins and laughs, running down the gangplank to throw herself at him, to jump in his arms. He catches her, arms around her waist to hold her to him until her feet leave the ground and they spin together, laughing between tears of relief.

When he puts her back down, Emma’s hands find his face, cold fingers brushing against his cheek, drawing his lips, his nose – he can’t stop staring at her, lest he blinks and she disappears again. He drinks in the sight of her, so beautiful despise the exhaustion etched into her features, the mist in her eyes. Her smile is the same, though, and when he leans down to kiss her, etiquette be damn, her mouth fits perfect against his the way it always did.

“You,” she starts when they break apart, only to stop and wet her lips, pondering on her words. “Your ring, it saves me.”

Her hand rises for her fingers to close around the ring she has taken to wearing around her neck – not the kind he would give her for a proposal, because Emma deserves gold and diamonds, emeralds to match her eyes. No, it is the ring he gave her on their first travel together, when a storm struck out of nowhere and drenched them all – ‘It will protect you like it protected me,’ he had told her, closing her hand around the ring, ‘as long as you wear it, you will be safe at sea.’

“I was drowning, but I _felt_ it, Killian. It helped me.”

His smile is shy, hesitant, even as he leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. Her fingers wrap around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him a little closer still as their breaths mingle and their bodies meet.

“I am glad, then. It saved you when I couldn’t.”

He feels her smile brushing against his lips, tastes it when she kisses him. For the first time in eight days, Killian feels whole again.


End file.
